


Dust

by MCUsic_to_my_ears



Series: ScienceBrosWeek2019 [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Awesome Pepper Potts, Brian Banner's A+ Parenting, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Family Issues, House Cleaning, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Memories, Past Abuse, Protective Pepper Potts, Roommates, Science Bros Week, Science Bros Week 2019, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCUsic_to_my_ears/pseuds/MCUsic_to_my_ears
Summary: Tony learns that he's inherited his childhood home, drawing up lonely memories as they search through the space.***SBW 2019 Prompt 1: Dust





	Dust

It was a four hour drive upstate, but a twenty minutes, paid-for flight. Tony had a knack for prolonging dreaded events. Bruce drove, because Tony was hungover and because Tony was emotional and because Tony was… Tony and hadn't driven on the highway for the better part of ten years. Bruce let his friend pick the music, even if after a while, ACDC tended to give him a headache. So Bruce drove and Tony ignored his anxieties and there was a sense of peace despite the rush hour traffic. 

All this because Pepper wouldn't let Tony blow up a house. 

The week before, Bruce had come back from the community college to find his roommates in a blowout fight. 

"I don't understand why it matters so much to you!" Tony yelled, slamming his laptop shut. "It's a house! It's not like you lived there!" 

"But you did! Tony, I don't want you to regret anything." 

"Regret- regret," Tony sputtered. "Do you think I'd regret destroying the last reminder of his existence? Really?" 

"Your mom lived in that house." 

Bruce backed up. 

"Oh, she lived there. Is constantly self medicating your fucked marriage with morphine what we call living now?" 

"Tony-" 

"Stop telling me how I should feel about my childhood, Pepper. Insensitivity doesn't fit you." 

Tony stormed past Bruce and he heard a car squeal out of the parking lot a minute later. Bruce ran a hand through his hair, facing Pepper. "Do I want to know?" he asked. 

She sighed, taking a seat on their ratty purple couch. Bruce remained in the doorway. "Tony got a call while we were eating dinner. His father's lawyer saying that in the will, Tony's childhood home went to him when he turns twenty-five." 

"Next week." 

"Exactly."

Bruce crossed into the living room, unpacking his backpack to begin grading papers. "I thought Tony wasn't in the will." 

Pepper shrugged. "He definitely didn't get any money or shares of the company. But he got the house." She thought a moment. "I think Howard knew how much Tony hated that house." 

"One last 'fuck you.'"

Pepper nodded. 

The message seemed received when Tony came home at three in the morning, belligerently drunk. Bruce woke up to the slamming of the other bedroom door and when he peaked out his own, Pepper waved at him from the kitchen, where she was blending together a hangover cure for the morning. 

Pepper left for work at an accounting firm thirty minutes before either Bruce or Tony's alarms went off. He silently thanked her. He would need all the help he could get in the morning while he tried to get Tony ready for his shift at the auto repair garage and himself for early morning office hours. 

The day after Tony's birthday was a Sunday and that was the day Bruce dragged Tony into his Prius for the drive upstate. Pepper had brunch with her aunt and grandmother every Sunday, so it was on Bruce to get Tony to go through the house and to set it up with a real estate agent. 

Originally, Tony wanted to hire a demolition crew, but Pepper told him it was out of his price range. He then suggested that he would jury-rig his own explosives, which was why Bruce was enlisted to accompany his roommate to the estate he was parking concurrently. Slamming their car doors shut, both looked at the house in contempt. For Tony, he saw a drowning child who never was noticed. For Bruce, it was the exclusivity other half punctuated by the front gate with the letter 'S' welded into the frame. Tony unlocked the front door. They had three hours until the realtor came. 

"Help yourself to any non-perishables in the cabinets. Or whiskey. Got a shit ton of whiskey in, well, just about everywhere," Tony deadpanned, leading his roommate into the kitchen. After deeming the cabinets empty except for a handful of worthless utensils and a dead mouse, they moved to the dining room. The only things of note were a collection of china and an intricate table cloth which Bruce placed a sticky note on for the realtor. The living room was a collection of plastic covered furniture they didn't bother. Bruce placed one tab on an antique looking lamp, but they continued on in silence. The yellowing wallpaper followed them up the creaking staircase. With each step, Tony's shoulders hunched further. At the top, he stopped. 

"Dad's room on the left. Mom's is straight ahead. Mine's…" He gestured loosely the right. 

"Where do you want to start?" Bruce asked softly, eyes tracing the chipped wood molding illuminated by the dim lights. 

His friend shrugged. "Back at the apartment." 

"Tony-" 

"There's nothing in these rooms. I took all my shit the day I turned eighteen. Mom kept everything in her study in the basement and Dad in his office in the city. Their clothes are probably gone or eaten by moths at this point." The closed doors were suffocating, the face of danger. 

"Should we..." Bruce motioned back to the stairs. 

Tony sighed. "There's an attic. Mom kept some family heirlooms in it, I think." He rubbed his arm. "It's kind of… the reason I came." 

Bruce nodded, shivering at the draft coming from the center bedroom. At the confirmation, Tony pulled down the attached stair unit leading to the small nook, dust falling down around them. "No one ever cleaned up here," Tony supplied, climbing up the stairs. "I think Dad had paid some company to clean up the rest of the place until I took over. But no one ever thinks of the attic." 

Bruce joined him moments later, pulling out the flashlight on his phone until Tony found the string hanging within arm's reach to click on the single bulb. The new light outlined the short stacks of boxes pushed against the slanted walls. A couple of paintings leaned against the piles. Tony glanced through them, seeing the family portraits he sat hours for, long after his father had left, a new one every five years. He scoffed and opened up the nearest box instead. Bruce anxiously flicked through the sticky notes, on standby until Tony finished rifling through the old blueprints for the house itself. He set it aside and Bruce labeled it in Sharpie. 

Three crates of books, a lamp, several blankets, endless needle point work, and one box of old dishes later, and they were on the last one. By this point, Tony had settled among the dust and was simply waiting for Bruce to pass him the boxes. Disappointment settled in his bones. He had no family to speak of and, it turned out, never did. 

Inside the final one was three photo albums. Wiping at the covering, the date read 1970-1980. The first ten years of Tony’s life. His heart crawled up his throat. Bruce stood back. He understood the importance of a mark of family, something he himself still yearned for, even five years after his father had died behind bars. 

Opening the first page, he saw an image of Howard genuinely smiling as Maria held their newborn son. Written below the photo in Maria clean cursive were the words  _ Happiest day of our lives.  _ He blinked in surprise. The following pages were filled with infant photos of Tony. The further he went into the book, the less Howard appeared and the further the gaps between the polaroids.

He sighed, but continued on to the next book. It was dated from a few years after his parent’s wedding date and lasted until his birth. There were ten or so unfilled pages in the back. The beginnings of an unhappy marriage. Tony always felt that his mother expected him to bring his parents back together and that she resented him when he didn’t. He set it aside. 

The last book was of his teen years. There were five pages filled out, all from his fifth grade recital at boarding school, the last event his mother attended. 

Tony was at the front door before took another breath, hot tears in his eyes. 

“Tones?”

He looked up. 

“I. You know I get it,” Bruce started, opening the front door and settling on the porch. Tony joined him. “The family thing. My dad killed my mom when I was ten. He was in jail since I was twelve. Abusive before that, obviously. The- I know what neglect does too. My aunt tried, but… I wasn’t her kid. It wasn’t her fault.” Tony shook his head at Bruce’s attempt at reassurance. “You don’t have to keep it bottled up. I’m here for you. Pepper is here for you. Trauma is hard. It’s scary to work through. I’ve been in therapy since I was fifteen.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Tony considered the forest surrounding them. “It’s… I thought that there was some  _ reason _ that he left me this place. Some sort of explanation for all his shitty behavior. Instead, I got a dust trap.” 

Bruce nodded. “And now we’re getting rid of it.”

“Yeah.” He stood up. “How long until the realtor gets here?” 

Bruce checked his watch. “An hour.” 

“We’ve got enough time for burgers.”


End file.
